


and that's why i need you here

by whisperedwords



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (implied romantic feelings from both parties), Bellamy is alive (obviously) and kicking, Clarke has escaped Mount Weather, F/M, Fluff, Mild Angst, Playing House, Pre-Romance, set some time in s2, shhhhh don't question it, somehow a house has survived like at least a hundred years after the nuclear war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 13:26:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2389898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperedwords/pseuds/whisperedwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy and Clarke get a little bit lost on a mission to get back to Mt. Weather and stumble upon a (surprisingly) undisturbed home. Of course, since they’re there already and it’s getting dark, they might as well play house for a little bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and that's why i need you here

**Author's Note:**

> This did not turn into what I was expecting it to, but anyway. WOW I love Bellamy/Clarke so much this is a real damn disaster. This is my contribution to the fanbase. Unbeta'd, as 99.99% of my writing is.

 “Are you _sure_ this is the way you went, Princess? You were a little incapacitated last time you were there, in case you forgot.” Bellamy shouts ahead to Clarke, who’s standing by some trees a few feet ahead of him. She turns to give him a sharp look and he lifts his hands in innocence. “Just asking.”

“ _Yes_ , this is the right way. I remember running by these trees when Jasper, Monty and I were escaping…” She runs a hand over the gnarled bark lightly, letting it scrape her palms. “I _swear_ this is it.” Although, Bellamy notices, her face doesn’t seem as convincing. He strides over to her and looks the tree up and down.

“Clarke. This tree looks exactly like every single other tree in this forest. We’ve been out here for _hours_. I think you’re just tired—”

“We _need_ to get back to Mount Weather, Bellamy!” She snaps, turning on him so quickly he stumbles back a step. “The supplies they had there was what we need back home, and you know damn well that we can’t take our time finding this stuff.” Frustrated, she rubs her hands over her face and exhales loudly. Her voice softens as she leans back against the tree she had just been examining. “I just…we need this. You know that. We can’t give up now.”

Bellamy reaches out to clasp her shoulder reassuringly, but falters halfway there. “Holy shit.” He breathes, eyes widening as he looks over her head. “Clarke, you gotta look at this.”

“What?” She asks, voice tired. He helps her stand back up and then grabs her by the shoulders and turns her towards the attraction. “Oh, my _god_. Is that…?”

“A house. A real, pre-nuke house. Jesus fucking Christ.” They stand by the tree in awe and gaze at the gray house shrouded in shadow and forest. It’s not huge—two stories, from the look of it. The windows are boarded up with decaying wood, but other than that, it looks fine; brick and stone make up the front steps, and the door looks like it’s made of metal. Bellamy and Clarke exchange a look and then start walking, in step almost immediately.

As they get closer, the details start to come into focus. The paint is smudged with dark handprints that are fairly ominous looking. There’s a hint of concrete peeking out from beneath the mounds of dirt and leaves that have accumulated over the past century or so. There’s a broken railing attached to the stairs, the iron rotted and rusted despite the almost impeccable state of the door, which looks to be made of the same material. “Kinda creepy, huh?” Bellamy asks, nudging her shoulder with his gently. She rolls her eyes at him.

“I’m _sure_ you’ve seen worse.” She retorts, crossing her arms and biting back a grin. “Anyway, we’re not gonna stay here. We have to keep moving. We’ll just stop and see if there’s any supplies that survived the nuclear war.”

“Sure you don’t wanna test the bed springs?” He teases, elbowing her a little. She flushes almost immediately, whacking him hard in the chest and then distancing herself to get to the front door. “Sorry, Princess. Just wanted to make sure our itineraries matched up.” He continues, absently rubbing the spot where she had hit him. It was sore, but he didn’t care—riling her up was the best part of his day.

“Shut up, Bellamy. You got your gun?”

“Always.”

“Then let’s open this door.” At once, he strides up and stands next to her on the little stone porch, gun cocked and pointed at the handle. “I’m opening it in three…two…one…” She grips the handle and presses downward, but it doesn’t budge. “Shit.”

“Watch your language!” Bellamy gasps mockingly before giving her a smirk. “Hold on. Let’s get that fixed. Cover your ears.” She does as she’s told, and he fires two shots at the handle before the door swings open. He grins at her. “See? Nothing a little gun powder can’t do.” She says nothing to reply, instead choosing to step foot into the house. The smile drops from his face as he goes into defense mode, shadowing her as she fully walks into the front room. It’s…quiet. Dark.

“Hello?” Clarke calls out. Bellamy practically drops his gun and clamps her mouth shut with his hand. He feels her gasp.

“Are you _crazy_?” He hisses in her ear, dragging her to the nearest wall to hide. “If there are people here, you just gave away your position. That’s basic—” He stops talking when he realizes she’s licking his hand, which, no. Quickly, he withdraws his hand from her mouth, and she grins devilishly at him as he wipes it on his shirt. “Jesus.”

“No one is here. The door was _locked_ and there’s no light or trace of anyone living here in a long, long time. I think we’re good.” She slips out of his grip and pads over to the closest light switch. “Speaking of darkness: think it’s too much to hope for?” He shrugs. She flips the switch. All of a sudden, lights flicker on, and Clarke lets out a squeak of excitement. Bellamy gazes at her, and then around at the illuminated house. The wooden floors shine underneath their feet, and the walls are stark and white and _everything_ that the children’s books said they were.

“Damn.” He breathes in awe. Eyes flicking back to her, he watches as she stares up to the second floor, eyes wide and lips stretched in a smile that he hasn’t seen from her in a while. It’s a nice look on her.

“I’m gonna go see what else is up there. You coming?” She walks over to the staircase and rests a hand on the bannister, which is just as white as the walls. He’s completely stunned.

“Uh, nah. I’m gonna see what else is down here. Maybe raid the fridge. Who knows what’ll be in there?”

“Good idea.” She affirms, and then turns and practically skips up the steps, leaving Bellamy by himself standing by the still-open front door. He looks around. _This is a house_ , he tells himself. _This is what populated Earth so long ago. Back before there was an Ark. People_ lived _here._ He runs a hand over the smooth white walls, astounded at how clean it had remained despite the years it went through. He doesn’t bother questioning how the house was still standing—maybe this had been one of the few places the bombs hadn’t touched? It doesn’t matter. All he knows is that there’s a stunningly dark wooden table sitting in the middle of the room with six chairs of the same type surrounding it, and it might be some of the most beautifully carved wood he’s ever seen. He grasps the back of one chair tentatively, feeling the unblemished wood beneath his fingertips and marveling at the feeling. He doesn’t know how long he stays standing there, admiring the set, when he hears Clarke shriek from above him. In a second, he’s sprinting up the stairs, wooden marvels forgotten, and has his gun drawn as he yells for her.

“Clarke! _Clarke_!” He kicks each door open, gun searching for whatever had attacked her. “Clarke, where are you?”

“Bellamy, I’m fi—” She’s cut off as he comes bursting into the room. “—ne.” For a moment, they stand there in the bathroom; Bellamy dropping the gun to the floor and letting his arm sink down, Clarke covering her naked body with the shower curtain and looking at him with raised eyebrows. “I wanted to see if there was any hot water.”

“So—so you just—?” He asks, voice slightly choked. Unable to continue, he gestures to the shower. She nods. “You just willingly got naked and hoped there wasn’t acid or rust-infected water in the water tank.” It’s no longer a question once he finds his words.

“Could you just do me a favor and find something I can dry off with?” She replies, exasperated. “I think there might be a closet door across the hall.” He goes, still a little startled at finding Clarke so exposed. When he comes back, towel in hand, he finds her standing in the middle of the room, no longer covered by the shower curtain, head hung and body shivering. He knows better than to ask her if she’s okay—he knows she won’t answer him until she’s ready. Instead, he unfolds the towel and wraps it around her. Wordlessly, she raises her arms so that he has easier access. “You were right.” She says after a moment. He hesitates, not stepping away from her. “I was…I was selfish, just going to take a shower and not testing anything. What if something had happened to me? What if something had happened to _you_?” She lets out a half-laugh, half-sob. “I don’t…I’m sorry…”

“Princess.” Bellamy murmurs, resting a hand on her bare shoulder. “It’s okay to be selfish.” He doesn’t say anything else, just lets her rest her hand on his own and stands there, right up against her in the middle of the pristine bathroom, the lights somehow miraculously working despite how old the building is. After a moment, she speaks up again.

“You can shower now. If you want. It’s not acid or poison or anything.” She lifts her hand from his and leaves the room, clutching the towel close to her body and wandering the hall. Once again, he’s left standing in her wake, mind reeling. Absentmindedly, he wanders out of the room, looking down the hallway to see where Clarke had gone. The furthest door at the end of the hall is cracked open slightly, but he forces the concern and worry out of his head as he shuffles to the closet where he had found the towels and grabs another one before slipping into the bathroom. He strips and showers, and honestly, it’s the best he’s felt all day—even if the water is cold. _Damn Clarke for using the last of the hot water_.

* * *

They reconnect when Bellamy gets out of the shower, shivering but clean. Clarke is hovering outside the bathroom door when he opens it, holding out some folded clothes and looking particularly apologetic. With an amused expression, he takes them from her hands.

“What’s this for?” He asks. He knows the answer already, of course—he just wants to hear her say it. She glares at him like she knows this.

“Sorry for freaking out on you.” She says. “And thank you for…you know.” Again, he does know. He smiles at her and, just to keep her on her toes, drops the towel he has slung around his waist. She blushes again, to his absolute delight, and slams the bathroom door shut on him.

“What? Don’t like what you see, Princess?” He shouts through the door, but he’s laughing, and he can tell she is too. He pulls on the clothes Clarke had grabbed for him and opens the door again. She’s still standing there, arms crossed but face typically calm. She grabs him by the arm, though, and starts dragging him back towards the staircase.

“Let’s actually be productive while we’re here.” She says, as if that explains everything. Her hand drifts down to grasp his own, and in the rush of movement from the bathroom to the first floor, he barely recognizes it. “You didn’t see any food here, did you?” Bellamy shakes his head.

“I was going to, but you freaked me out upstairs.” He deadpans, and she grimaces at him.

“Well let’s see.” Hands still entwined, Clarke drags him into the kitchen, where she starts pawing at the wooden cupboards lining the walls. He chuckles.

“Here.” He opens them one by one and takes down the cans that fill the entirety of the cabinet. As he takes the food down, she examines the labels and the expiration dates. By the almost constant stream of disappointed sighs, he can tell that they won’t be bringing much back to camp. But he continues to empty the kitchen anyway, filling up the empty tables with can after can of (probably spoiled) food and stray supplies that had been hastily crammed in with them. _Aspirin?_ Good. _Benadryl?_ Whatever that is, Bellamy can only hope it’ll be helpful for Clarke and her medicinal needs. He finishes up the last cabinet soon enough, discarding the food on the closest table, and Clarke is all over it, examining dates and information on the cans.

“Do you need help?” He asks. “Like, shouldn’t we catalogue this?”

“Only what we bring back. Which doesn’t look like a lot.” With a sigh, she sinks into one of the nice wooden chairs from before. “I don’t know why I’m so disappointed. I mean, it’s not like I was expecting to find a—a gourmet buffet or something. I just…” Her hands cover her face. “There was hot water, and there was _light_ —” at that, the electricity shuts off, and she growls under her breath. Bellamy tries to hide his laugh. “—I just figured, you know, why not take it a step further? I don’t know.”

“Yeah, I get it.” He replies, plopping into the chair next to hers. The darkness settles on them quickly, and it’s only then that they realize how dark it’s gotten outside. “Listen. Right now, we’ve got a few cans of…” He makes a brief hand gesture in the direction of the good cans. “Whatever that is. And we’re showered and clean, and it’s not freezing in here, and we haven’t been attacked by grounders or anything. We did good, Clarke. You did good.” He settles his hand on her thigh gently. “I know you’re frustrated, but there’s not much more we can do. Besides. It’s too late to go out and keep looking for Mount Weather. Might as well take advantage of a bed and real blankets. And solid walls that don’t let in cold air.” She looks up at that. He stands up from the chair and holds out a hand, bowing slightly. “M’lady. Shall I escort you to your sleeping quarters?”

Somewhere, at the back of Clarke’s mind, she knows this is a bad idea—exploring the house, choosing to distract herself rather than face the reality of their situation—but for once, she doesn’t care. Instead, she takes Bellamy’s outstretched hand and beams at him. “Of _course_ , sire.” She replies with a phony accent, and they both dissolve into giggles, leaning into each other as they walk to the staircase and up to the second floor. The lack of light doesn’t really help them as they stumble their way up the steps, but it doesn’t matter—Bellamy is laughing at her, and she’s laughing at him, and it’s the happiest Clarke thinks she’s been for a while. She stops him when they reach the furthest door in the hallway and nods. “My quarters, Sir Blake.” Suddenly, he sweeps her into his arms, bridal style, and kicks the door open.

“Shall we?” He teases, and she squeals, whacking him in the chest as he carries her through the doorway. The bedroom is big—a bed big enough for at least three people, beige walls and pale wooden furniture. Even in the shadows, it’s obvious that the people who lived here could afford to be as grand as they wanted. He sets Clarke down and continues to stare. He’d never imagined that he would ever be able to look a hundred years (or _more!_ ) into the past and see its beauty.

Then again, he never imagined that he would be paired up with the most irritating, confident, and responsible person he’d ever met in his life. She waves at him from where she’s now reclined on the bed.

“Earth to Bellamy? C’mon. This is the only bedroom on this floor, I checked before.” She pats the other side of the bed, as if to summon him next to her. He follows without second thought.

“You sure? I know there’s a couch downstairs, so if you’d rather—”

“Bellamy.” Her voice is somehow cool and warm, reassuring him without further words that it’s okay. He nods and then sits down, back facing her, head bowed. Silence settles between them, amicable but still missing something. As if she can tell, Clarke gently presses her hand to the middle of his shoulder blades, the small-but-warm pressure relaxing a small bit of tension that had been building in his muscles without his knowing. “There’s not much more we can do.” She murmurs, repeating the words he had only minutes ago told her. “It’s okay.” And then she removes her hand, turns onto her side, and murmurs a final “ _take your time_ ” before going quiet again.

Bellamy Blake has always seen himself as the leader, and yet here he is, anchored by the one person on this whole planet who could ever lead better than him. She _is_ the leader here, he knows. He’s always known. He lies down on the bed next to her, gazing at the back of her head. Closing his eyes and taking a deep, steadying breath, he pulls Clarke flush to him, one arm wrapped snugly around her waist. This time, she doesn’t blush or get flustered like she had earlier. For this, he’s grateful. “Thank you.” He mumbles, chin resting against the back of her right shoulder. “For…you know.”

She knows.


End file.
